Vito would always force me to drop and give him twenty and often yell in his rough, gruff, gravely voice: "Come on neph, show me what you're made of." Hence the title to my article.
Uncle Vito passed away when I was in the fifth grade, but I wonder how he would feel knowing his story was published in a gay magazine. I'm sure it wouldn't go over very well, but at least he would know I grew up to indeed become a man, on my own terms and brave enough to live my life truthfully and honestly.